The Masks We Wear
by Ms.MaraJade
Summary: Post-Series. The infamous marauder, the Gray Falcon of Boitron, finally apprehends his long-sought prey. Will his newly-acquired captives be compassionate to his plight or will they seek to end him? My entry in the October Fête des Mousquetaires challenge: Masquerade.
1. Of Carriages & Safe Travels

_Author's Notes_ : Once again, I decided I'm not going for historical accuracy and just wanted to write a fun adventure I hope you all enjoy, but due to word count limitations, I had to thin down most of my usual detail. The towns of Boitron and Verdelot are actual places in France per modern Google Maps, but everything I've written about them is pure fiction. Also, I confirmed with the rules, and not including these Notes, the Disclaimer, and the Summary, the actual word count of the story came out to 10,238 words, which is, fortunately, within the 10% buffer allotted!

 _Disclaimer_ : I do not own "The Musketeers" in any capacity with the exception of the books written by Alexandre Dumas from where these characters originated. There is no money made from this hobby, but that does not stop my imagination from conjuring up new stories.

 _Summary_ : Post-Series. The infamous marauder, the Gray Falcon of Boitron, finally apprehends his long-sought prey. Will his newly-acquired captives be compassionate to his plight or will they seek to end him? My entry in the October Fête des Mousquetaires challenge: Masquerade.

 **The Masks We Wear**

 _Several years ago, a shadow began to appear throughout the forests of the Boitron lands, and no wealthy traveler has ever been safe since his arrival. Under the watchful eye of the Gray Falcon, all is seen as he manages to consistently remain a step ahead of his selected targets. No noble should dare roam the countryside of the Boitron lands alone – and, to do so is a foolhardy quest. Those who have disregarded such warnings in the past have found themselves ensnared in one of the Gray Falcon's many traps and their purse far lighter because of their imprudence._

 _General Marcellin, the overseer of Boitron, has shown he is far too lazy to waste resources on such an enemy – so long as he continues to receive his ever-increasing taxes when they are due. Still, the Gray Falcon has become a champion of the commoners of Boitron, despite General Marcellin's disregard of him._

 _If you happen upon the Gray Falcon in your travels, be wise and spare him your change so that he may use it for the betterment of the overtaxed Boitron people._

– _The Legend of the Gray Falcon of Boitron, as overheard in many a local tavern_

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 **Chapter 1 – Of Carriages and Safe Travels**

The carriage rumbled along the muddied road, splashing murky water and smearing the already dirt-ridden side with grime. The slimy filth slid down the wooden slats, only to fall again onto the spinning wheels, where it was flung backwards. The droplets returned to their place along the worn-down path, and the cycle of splattering mud continued in the aftermath of the previous day's storms. The sun had not yet shone long enough in the mid-morning to evaporate the puddles, and the driver begged the two horses at the front to pull harder so that the wheels would not sink into the soft earth.

The dark curtains of the carriage windows had been drawn, making it difficult to discern if there were any passengers aboard. The few citizens that had come into contact with the carriage had merely remarked that it looked like a rolling storage for the bodies of the dead. Others claimed the owner was probably a lazy carpenter who had no idea about how to decorate it with proper embellishments. And, another had called it a sloppy box on wheels, good for nothing more than hauling cheap wine to an even cheaper tavern.

Still, there was one amongst the few citizens that had said nothing, simply watching the carriage move along through the forest. He sat upon his horse at the top of the crest overlooking the road, his face obscured by a dark gray scarf that covered his nose and mouth, with only an opening beneath his chin to allow space for breathing. The charcoal-colored cavalier upon his head was worn low and provided his eyes nothing more than a slit to peer through, making it a mystery to even discern the color of his irises. The long, gray cloak he wore gave nothing away as to whether his clothing beneath was of a pauper or a prince.

"That's what we want," he said softly, but confidently.

"Be reasonable, Falcon. No one worth their salt would be seen dead in that moving storage crate," another man retorted. He was dressed in dark greens and dark tans, and his style of clothing was similar to that of the gray-clad observer.

The man named Falcon kept his eyes on his quarry but addressed his partner. "That poor rendition of a carriage is exactly why they have chosen it, Talon. They believed they would be concealed and that we would not think to find what we seek in such an inferior design."

"And, if you're wrong…"

"If you doubt me, then take the road behind us and return to the community. You will be absolved of my long-awaited plans and will face no punishment for my impending crime. I've waited far too many years for this opportunity, and I will not waste it because I have grown fearful when the moment has finally come into alignment."

The green and tan Talon took a long breath, his attention on the carriage as it was drawing near. "No, Falcon, I swore to you I would stay by your side, and I will face whatever fate comes our way."

"Thank you, Brother. Now, inform the others the plan is as we agreed. Time is of the essence."

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The carriage came to a sudden stop, and the blonde-haired driver who was not more than thirty-years-old began assessing how to get around the missing section of the dirt road. It was apparent even to him that someone had been extraordinarily busy the night or day before, removing large sections of dirt.

In his eleven years as a carriage driver, he had never seen such a neatly-prepared trap before. Before him on the ground was a hole that extended across the width of the road, and was nearly three feet deep.

Looking to his left and right, the driver considered the option of simply pulling around the divot, but the thick bushes on the left and the tight growth of trees on the right were not wide enough from the road to fit the carriage through safely. Whoever had done this, had been strategic in ensuring that the carriage and its contents would not be able to pass this section of road.

Two knocks came from the inside wall of the carriage to the right of the driver's seat. Then, the slat opened, and a pair of dark irises peered out.

Strangely calm, the man's voice that belonged to those dark irises asked, "Martin, why have we stopped?"

"We encountered an obstruction," the driver replied. Looking up, Martin started raising his arm and the sunlight glinted off the barrel of his pistol, "It's a trap! There is…"

The sound of another pistol cracked through the forest, echoing amongst the trees and forcing the birds to screech as they darted from the noise. Amidst the scattering of the birds and mammals as the animals ducked for safety, the driver screamed and the dark irises closed the slat shut as the driver slumped in his seat. Two horses thundered around the carriage, with ten men in total now surrounding it.

Three of the men quickly moved before the carriage horses, and they worked to calm the animals. They all had their faces covered with scarves, despite being dressed in different kinds of tunics and trousers. Some of them wore aprons that spoke of occupations not known for being marauders. The leather apron on the one man was marked with burns that were specific to smithy work. Another had stains from ale and wine, and even food preparations. The third man looked like a monk as he was wearing a simple, brown robe with a brown, tasseled belt along his waist.

The other men, dressed in tunics and trousers of the kind farmers wear, ran towards the chasm in the road while holding long, wooden planks in their hands. They efficiently worked to set down the makeshift bridge that would ensure the horses and carriage passed safely through their trap.

"Dear God, my arm! You shot my arm!" Martin growled, as he sat up and realized that blood was soaking through his tunic.

"It is a superficial wound, and you will survive. You should not have attempted to attack my men. Now, shut up or my next shot won't be so lenient," the gray-clad man warned as he raised his pistol to aim at Martin while he stayed upon his horse supervising the men around him.

"Falcon," the man named Talon said as he rode towards the other, and watched the red-scarfed man in the smithy apron take his place near the driver on the carriage, "The road ahead is clear."

Nodding, the man who went by Falcon nodded towards the smithy, "Irons, your part comes into play now."

"Yes, sir," Irons replied as he took the horses' reins and snapped them once to get the horses moving again.

The rest of the men took their assigned positions around the carriage, with Falcon in the front and Talon in the back. Falcon claimed that they finally had in their possession exactly what they needed, and Falcon, especially, had waited years for this moment. The men who accompanied him had learned over time that he was a patient man. None of them expected that his constant monitoring of the road would actually pay off, but now they knew their lives would change, just as he had promised them.

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Warmth pressed to her hand, and she inhaled fearfully as she curled her fingers around his in the dim light from the closed curtains. The carriage had started moving again, but not without harm to Martin. No one was supposed to know that she was not in the usual carriage of her station, and that it was now merely acting as a decoy as it ran four miles south on a road parallel to theirs. It was supposed to be the perfect plan with the perfect disguise – to hide the Queen of France in a decrepit carriage that had seen better days than to have her travel in plain sight in the royal carriage.

"Be strong, Majesty," Aramis whispered softly, his face shadowed so that just his dark irises caught the light. "Our captors may still believe we are lowly subjects. Constance and D'Artagnan remain in command of the royal carriage and carry the documents that will prove Duke Elliot's innocence. They will see he is released in our absence."

"I so rarely leave the palace now," Anne remarked quietly. "Usually a letter with my seal resolves such disputes, but as regent under a council, the magistrate of Verdelot would only give over those documents in my presence. I am not accepted nearly as willingly as I should be. Do you think someone on the council has arranged this trip as a convenient accident for us?"

"We have our enemies, of that I am certain," Aramis answered, "But, I never told the council about the plan D'Artagnan, Constance, and I had prepared in which we would switch carriages in order to keep your identity hidden. I realize we are traveling through the lands of the Gray Falcon, but do not believe the exaggerations. While a Musketeer, I had ridden through Boitron many times, and never once encountered him. My fear for you is of bandits or enemies of the crown if they discover your identity. Please trust that we are well-concealed as a commoner couple wishing we were wealthy."

Taking a breath, Anne looked once again to her personal protector. "Are you are certain you could not fight our attackers while we were stationary?"

Aramis kissed her knuckles, hoping to ease her worries. There were multiple slats throughout the carriage that were designed as peek holes, and Aramis had used them to monitor the outside activities. "Except for two of our captors, these men were weaponless. In fact, they looked like simple townsfolk, just all hiding their faces. Their danger lies in that they were organized and careful, rather than sloppy and hurried."

The carriage steadily trundled along, and as one of the wheels rolled over something raised in the road, Anne and Aramis were jarred in their seats and gently slammed into the walls.

" _Don't tip it, Irons_!" came the voice of the man that seemed to be leading this group, and Aramis passed a quick glance to Anne.

" _Sorry, Falcon. I didn't see the rock until it was too late_ ," replied the voice of the replacement driver.

"Perhaps if we are lucky, these are just incompetent robbers that will be easily tricked," Aramis jested.

In the dim light, Anne barely caught the glimpse of his smile, and for the briefest of moments she felt at ease. However, a few minutes later, the carriage came to a stop, and her heart started thudding almost painfully in her chest.

"Strength, Majesty," Aramis whispered before releasing her fingers and grasping both his pistols in his hands.

When the doors to the carriage opened, Aramis brought both hands up and each pistol was aimed at each opened door. Although he could not see their frightened faces behind their scarves, he could see the utter fear in the men's eyes, and they immediately brought their hands up in surrender.

Aramis's voice was soft, threatening, "I think you've chosen the wrong carriage."

The men who opened the doors quickly disappeared and in their place stood the only two men in the group who had weapons, each one holding their pistols towards Anne.

"I'd say this is exactly the carriage I was seeking," the gray-covered man answered. Shifting his eyes towards the queen, his tone softened, "Majesty, I've been waiting a long time for you."


	2. In the Clutches of Falcons & Talons

**Chapter 2 – In the Clutches of Falcons and Talons**

"Majesty?" Aramis laughed, and he shook his head at the very notion. "My sweet, isn't that just the most flattering thing you have ever heard? These men have confused you for the Queen of France!"

Anne pressed her hand to her forehead and breathed in relief. "Oh my, yes, indeed, my love. Gentlemen, you have given us quite the scare, but last we heard, the queen was traveling south of here."

Aramis caught that the tan and green marauder passed a confused glance between Anne and him before shifting his gaze towards his partner. However, the gray-cloaked marauder that he had deducted was this land's Gray Falcon made no such gesture, and kept his eyes firmly locked onto Anne.

"I'm sorry I had to force an audience with you this way, Majesty," the Gray Falcon said, "Please understand that even while you wear the simple dress of a commoner's wife, I would know your face anywhere. Also, know that my word is true when I say I have no intentions to bring either of you any harm."

Anne swallowed hard and then raised her chin in defiance of her captors. "You say you intend no harm, yet you and your partner both dare to raise a pistol towards me after bringing injury to my innocent driver. I see nothing before me but cowards making an assassination attempt."

"Lower your weapons, First Minister, and we will do the same," Falcon said. "I want to give you both a gesture of good faith that I am an honest man, and your harm is not my intention."

Aramis shifted his gaze between the two men, and then studied Anne's face in the streaks of sunlight that came in through the open doors. She was dressed in a simple blue dress, the white chemise beneath offering no hint as to her royal status. She was as plainly adorned as any of Paris' citizens, and her blonde hair had fallen loosely around her shoulders, with the exception of the string that had secured some of her locks from her face. From the moment Aramis saw her in this ordinary outfit, he was reminded of the day she had disguised herself and Constance to seek out Emilie and learn if there was any way to peacefully resolve the impending conflict that Emilie and her followers believed they had to undertake.

"I need more than your word," Aramis finally replied, refusing to withdraw his pistols.

Falcon nodded silently to his partner on the other side of the carriage before they both suddenly lowered their weapons and took them from view. "I beg you, exit your carriage and see what lies around you."

Anne brought her eyes now to Aramis and awaited his counsel. She saw no sign of fear on his face, his rugged features still bearing the same chiseled mustache, goatee, and beard that was trimmed along his jawline. His dark, wavy hair was always as wild as ever, the ends falling just to his shoulders, and she could imagine him with no other guise. The long coat he wore in his Musketeer days covered the plain brown trousers and simple white tunic beneath – his insistence on utilizing the piece of his old uniform to better hide his bladed weapons.

After a long, tense moment, Aramis brought his pistols from the men, and the marauder in the green and tan clothing took them from him. Aramis heard his weapons being dropped carefully onto the ground near the carriage, and he was already trying to devise a plan to retrieve them.

"Talon, please escort Her Majesty," Falcon said when the younger man peered back inside the carriage.

The man using the name Talon raised his hand towards Anne, his gesture one of a gentleman offering to escort a lady. Reluctantly, she took his hand and allowed him to help her step down from the carriage. Aramis moved to follow, but Falcon was faster and drew his weapon on him once again.

"This side, First Minister," Falcon warned quietly as he gestured with his pistol. "She will be safe, but I must keep you separated for the moment until I have suitably earned your trust."

"Not allowing me to protect her appropriately is not the way to earn my trust," Aramis shot back in annoyance as he slipped through the open doorway, knowing that he could not easily reclaim his pistols from this side of the carriage.

As Aramis stepped onto the muddied ground, he watched as Falcon stepped back, keeping his pistol aimed at him. He allowed the marauder to lead him on a wide berth of the carriage and its horses, his eyes noting that Martin had been lowered from the carriage and was sitting on a large piece of cloth where a woman in an unadorned green dress was cleaning and dressing his wound.

There were small, wooden living structures, each with its own purpose built around a simple, stone-laden church, and for the briefest of moments, Aramis was reminded of the followers of Emilie once again. However, there was also something very different about the people that were moving outside of these one-room houses. They were all simple families: tradesmen, wives, children – and not a single one of them was rallied with vigor for a higher cause. They seemed broken, lost, and as some of them looked to him, he saw that despair turn to hope. Shifting his gaze to the masked men who had captured their carriage, he noticed the same hint of optimism in them as well.

Catching sight of Anne finally, Aramis released a breath of relief to know she was still unharmed. Talon was standing near her, his pistol not directly aimed at her, but certainly being held as an idle threat. It was in that moment that Aramis understood that these people truly did not want to harm her, but they believed they needed her for some purpose he had yet to understand.

"My love!" cried a woman who was adorned in a plain, tan dress. Her long, ebon-like curls fell behind her and bounced as she ran out the door of the church. "You have done it!"

"Of course, I have, Micheline!" Falcon said triumphantly, "There was never any reason to doubt."

Falling to her knees before Anne, the dark-haired woman took the queen's hands in her own, and Anne resisted every urge to flinch until she felt the genuine relief in the woman's touch. She dared a glance towards Aramis, catching him some distance away and saw the tension in his body. Then, she looked at these hapless people surrounding them once again before studying the woman on her knees.

Bringing her eyes towards Micheline, the queen noted that she and the woman before her were very close in age, with just a few years to separate them. Micheline's hazel eyes were bright and kind, despite the heartache in them. She reminded Anne very much of herself, and she wanted to know why these people were compelled to kidnap the Queen of France.

"Majesty," the woman said with a smile that showed utter relief as she stood, "I see that you look upon me without recognition. If you and your first minister will please just follow me, all will be explained."

Catching Aramis' eyes with her own, Anne gave a silent nod before she followed Micheline. Talon stayed close to both women as they walked, and Falcon remained close to Aramis as the two of them followed a slightly further distance behind.

More than once Aramis had considered how he could overtake Falcon, but the sight of these people having been broken for so long haunted him. When Anne had complied to hear Micheline's explanation, he held his attack and knew he had to trust her. There was some reason only these people could offer as to their desperate actions to capture the Queen of France, and it was time to learn just what would cause honest people to resort to criminal activities.


	3. Rise of the Gray Falcon

**Chapter 3 – The Rise of the Gray Falcon**

Micheline led the group into the church, only for them to discover it was entirely gutted, its pews pushed against the walls and used as benches. There were cots and sleeping pallets along the floor where mothers were nursing their babies or young children were taking naps. Elderly men and women sat upon wooden pews that were nestled against the walls. Where the altar was supposed to be was instead a fireplace that had been vented so the fumes would escape through the chimney that was once used to burn incense.

A small table had been set in the corner with four chairs and a tea set laid out upon it. Micheline motioned for Anne to take a seat, and Falcon did likewise for Aramis. While Talon and Falcon remained standing, Micheline sat with them and poured tea into the mugs.

"Majesty, you may not remember us, but we were in attendance at your marriage to Louis," Micheline was saying as she took a sip of the unsweetened tea, "Despite me being five years older than you, I remember watching then how a woman with no French blood, stood with poise and dignity, masking fear and doubt to show the people of France that you would accept us as your own. Your strength and determination in that moment inspired me to be just as resilient to those who would see to our undoing."

Anne noticed that there was no sweetener upon the table, but she had grown thirsty in the ordeal of the last hour or so, and she would simply have to do without. Sipping the hot liquid and finding it surprisingly not bitter, she gave a quick glance to Aramis, noting that he was still keeping his attention on their captors.

"When Rochefort came into favor with Louis, he took everything out from under my wife and I," Falcon explained, as he raised his cavalier and lowered his scarf to lay it over his neck. The man beneath the disguise revealed a goatee of chestnut-colored hair that was sprinkled with a few gray strands. His brown eyes were light in color, and the mark across his cheek told of a battle that he had survived a long time ago. "Micheline is the rightful Countess of Boitron, and I am her husband, Alain. These people who reside with us were the souls under our care on the lands we owned."

Aramis felt his fist instinctively clench at just the mention of Rochefort, and all the ruthless memories of that man he had locked away flooded him once again.

"For years, we had tried to reach out to you civilly, with no success," Micheline added, "But I suppose it would have been impossible to receive an audience with you when we were no longer worthy of royal attention."

"Rochefort has been dead for a few years now. How exactly did he wrong you and your people?" Aramis asked.

Micheline replied, "Louis did not contest Rochefort's claims on our properties. We had no idea our land was no longer ours until soldiers came and mercilessly evicted us from our own home. One of Rochefort's supporters, a man who called himself General Marcellin, showed us the supposed letter of sale that had the official seal of the King of France, and signatures from Louis, Rochefort, and Marcellin. This was all done without our knowledge."

Alain interjected, "But it is a false letter, for there is legally no signature from our family or a representative of the Boitron lands. Still, how were the two of us supposed to fight a legal battle against armed soldiers as we were being dragged physically from our home?"

"You are both not mistaken," Anne agreed, "A land sale requires signatures from both the seller and the buyer. Louis was easily manipulated by Rochefort, and I can only imagine the lies that had been presented to my late husband to ensure this happened."

"When he first arrived, Marcellin was tyrannical and cruel," Alain continued, "Without us to oversee the lands, our people suffered, and they were taxed for no other purpose than for Marcellin to increase what was left of our fortune. We eventually learned that our people were beaten or imprisoned when they could not pay. Some were simply killed for Marcellin's enjoyment. Women were taken, and children left parentless. However, Marcellin has grown lazy and inactive in the last two years, no longer wasting his resources on me."

Micheline took another sip of tea before glancing at the various citizens in the church. "Over the years, many of our people followed us off our lands, making their lives in this hollowed-out church we rebuilt to accommodate them. Eventually, we had expanded by building the wooden shelters, always hoping it would be temporary and that one day we would return to what is still rightfully ours."

"In order to avenge what had happened to our people," Alain started, as he gave his wife a smile of confidence, "I became the Gray Falcon. Initially, it started as a way to seek an audience with the appropriate nobility, knowing that every time I don this marauder outfit it is at the risk of my life."

"Majesty," Talon pleaded, as he lowered his scarf to offer a man in his late twenties with similar features to Micheline, "My brother-in-law and I only steal from those who can afford to lose it. We give the riches we acquire to our people who are still living on our lands so that they can pay Marcellin and avoid sentencing. Those people have agreed to live there to act as our eyes and ears on Marcellin's dealings, but we have never received an opportunity that will allow us to reclaim our family deed or find the falsified letter from Rochefort."

"Our pleas for an audience with Louis had gone on deaf ears," Micheline sighed sadly, "He always dismissed us, believing we were nothing but paupers with false intentions. While many of our people had resigned themselves to this fate, Alain did not. After we heard of the king's death, Alain began scouting the lands, not just for nobles who might listen to our plea– but to force an audience with you. He believed – utterly believed – that, at some point, you would travel through our area of France, and he had a plan in place for years so that you would hear from us what your husband refused to acknowledge."

"This is the first I have ever heard of such a conspiracy," Anne said as she looked at her captors, seeking the truth on their faces.

"Majesty, what purpose could we possibly have for falsifying our claims?" Micheline asked in a painful whisper.

"I could think of plenty of reasons to seek land that isn't yours," Aramis countered. Then, he brought his eyes to Alain, "But, you are not the only ones who had experienced Rochefort's deviousness. I will not disclose the nature of his business with me, but I nearly lost my life while I was a Musketeer because of his deceit, and I know of many more who had suffered because of him. I can make no promise of what Her Majesty will decide, but it seems you had gone through a great deal to ensure you have your audience with her."

Anne nodded before she gave her attention to the family of Boitron, remembering all-too-well that day in her apartments when Rochefort attacked her. If not for Constance's interference, there was no telling what Rochefort would have done. The fact that he had nearly taken both her son and Aramis from her as well was a transgression she would never forgive.

"Rochefort may be dead," Anne answered, "But his sins endure throughout France, and I will not allow that man the satisfaction of his victories while he continues to burn in Hell. You have one chance to plead your case with me, and only rightful honesty will win my favor."


	4. Into the General's Lair

**Chapter 4 – Into the General's Lair**

"Run, Majesty, and don't look back," Aramis sternly pleaded as he kept his hand on her shoulder, guiding her.

Darkness had already settled on the land, and the moonless sky offered little more than the barest of light to discern shapes. Anne had already tripped twice in their escape, and both times Aramis had barely caught her. Still, she continued to stay close to him and kept moving.

He regretted that they had not thought quickly enough to take one of their horses, and he only hoped Martin would not suffer further. The carriage driver claimed he was too injured to take on this excursion, and he had said he would pray for their safety as they left.

"Aramis, I see light ahead," Anne panted as she struggled to breathe while doing her best to avoid tripping again, as she held the skirt of her dress in one hand.

Pulling the queen with him, Aramis broke into a clearing where a vast yard awaited them. Both of them sucked in large gasps of air as they looked to the mansion that stood as a beacon, with torches lit around it and candles brightening a few of the windows.

Suddenly spinning back towards the woods, Aramis forced Anne into a crouch behind a large tree trunk. He covered her to keep her from reacting as he caught the movement he sought in the dark shadows. The bushes rustled in the distance, and Aramis studied the shape of their pursuer. He released a breath of relief when he realized that it was a deer pulling on the leaves of a wild berry shrub.

Taking her hand once again in his, Aramis started across that large patch of open land, keeping the mansion in sight.

Two men, armed with pistols and swords suddenly charged towards the queen and the first minister.

"Halt!" one of them shouted while aiming his pistol.

"Trespassers are forbidden and risk being shot on sight by the order of General Marcellin," the other warned, bringing his pistol forward.

"Tell your general that Queen Anne seeks refuge by order of the First Minister," Aramis shot back in the same tone.

"If she's the queen, then I'm Cardinal Richelieu risen from the dead," the older of the two guards scoffed.

"Get off the general's property, peasants," the young man added, sneering at Anne.

Anne stood tall and stared down these two men, refusing to have her dignity questioned. "You dare to insult your rightful sovereign? We just escaped from the Gray Falcon's captivity."

Aramis took a calming breath. "We were traveling in disguise…"

"You're not the first imposter queen to step foot here," the older guard interrupted, "Now be gone!"

"Majesty," Aramis pleaded as he looked into the woods behind them and studied the trees before bringing his attention back to her. "They will not believe us without your proof. You must show them the seal."

"You said it would be too dangerous to reveal it in the wrong company."

"It's either show these guards the seal or face the Gray Falcon that pursues us," Aramis pressed.

Aramis caught that the two guards exchanged a look but neither of them relented their weapons.

Anne took a breath to muster her dignity and then she turned from the men as she reached her fingers into the hidden pocket inside the front of her chemise near her breasts, and fished out the royal seal. There were two in existence: one stayed safely hidden within a vault in the palace, and the other one she carried while traveling. Since the rest of her belongings had remained on the royal carriage with D'Artagnan and Constance, Aramis insisted she carry it in the event that she had to prove her identity.

Turning back to the guards, Anne opened her palm and showed them the small metal design used to imprint the wax seal on correspondence of the royal family.

Confused, the two guards finally lowered their weapons and stumbled upon their words.

"Apologies, Majesty."

"One can't be too careful," the older guard said weakly as he motioned for them to walk with him.

"Welcome back from the dead, Cardinal," Aramis sarcastically muttered to the older guard, as he set a hand protectively across Anne's shoulders and followed behind him while she returned the seal to its hidden pocket.

Aramis and Anne were led into a parlor in the front of the house. A young woman – not more than nineteen years of age –entered the room upon the guard's beckoning. She wore a tan and white servant's uniform, and the guard rudely told her to stay with the guests while he found the general.

When the guard was gone, Anne looked to this blonde-haired girl with brown eyes. Her expression spoke of one who had been oppressed and tormented. She gave the impression that she had been forced into her servitude, rather than having it be a dignified choice for her profession.

"How long have you been in service here?" Aramis asked the young woman, seeming to make casual conversation.

"Over seven years," she answered shyly.

"Do you remember the Count and Countess?" Anne questioned softly.

Her voice grew quiet, as though hiding, "They were kind. They took in my mother and I when my father died."

"What of this General Marcellin?" Aramis asked.

The young woman wrapped her arms over herself and shook her head, "Best not to talk about him."

Anne shot Aramis a look, and he ran his fingers through his hair as he took a long breath. "Please give us one thing."

Darting her eyes, she quickly whispered, "He loves the wine here…"

"Majesty, I am General Marcellin!" echoed a voice in the parlor. "There was no advance notice that you would be visiting my humble home."

Both Anne and Aramis brought their attention to the middle-aged man as he stepped forward with the older guard breaking away from him and then returning to his duties outside. General Marcellin wore a dark, red jacket of fine cloth over a white tunic and dark trousers. His black boots were shined to the point they reflected the candles in the parlor, and he wore his blonde hair in a black ribbon at the back of his head. His brown eyes were dark in color, and roamed over Anne, reminding her of the stares she had so many times dismissed from Rochefort.

"We were traveling incognito," Anne replied, fighting to suppress the shudder of those memories, "But, we were captured by the Gray Falcon. My first minister, Aramis, managed to conduct an escape from his camp, and we stumbled upon your residence merely seeking safety."

General Marcellin rubbed his chin before glancing at the servant girl, his eyes now drifting over her. "Forgive me, Majesty, I am forgetting my manners. Juliette, please ensure our guests have warm tea, and set a table of our finest breads and cheeses. And, be sure to bring me a bottle of my wine."

"Yes, General," Juliette replied shyly before disappearing down the hallway.

Marcellin gave a bow with his head. "Please, if you would follow me, I am certain time in my company will put you both at ease."


	5. A Really Good Bottle of Wine

**Chapter 5 – A Really Good Bottle of Wine**

The dining room consisted of a large table with accommodations for at least twelve people. Marcellin sat at the head with Anne and Aramis both on his right. The chairs were as finely crafted as the table, carved and dovetailed from an even sturdier bouquet of auburn-colored wood. A white runner was centered upon the table in dark blue trim with gold tassels hanging from the furthest ends. A bowl of bread was laid out, along with slices of different cheeses, a bottle of wine, and a tea set that included a kettle, cups, spoons, and honey.

"Perhaps you could tell us more about this Gray Falcon?" Anne asked after sipping her tea. "I thought he was simply a legend in these lands, but after our escape tonight, I have learned he is a true threat."

"Majesty, may I suggest instead that you just revel in the contentment that you are now safe from him. He has been little more than a nuisance, and I would not waste energies worrying about his antics," General Marcellin said with a guarded smile, flicking his eyes towards Juliette once again.

Aramis straightened his back and folded his hands carefully before him. "With all due respect, General, I would like to see this Gray Falcon investigated further. As First Minister, I can dedicate a small force of Musketeers to protect the citizens who travel here. This Gray Falcon has terrorized the nobility for many years and had made an attempt on the queen. It is time to bring his reign of terror to an end."

"First Minister, I understand that you and Her Majesty have been wronged, but to bring an army of Musketeers would just scare him away. It is a delicate operation to catch him, and one that is simply not worth wasting resources or Musketeers."

"You dare to dismiss the concerns of your queen?" Anne asked coldly. "No noble and certainly no queen should live in fear of a man who hides his face. Do you not have an army at your disposal, General?"

Marcellin's smile dropped, and he leaned forward, his body language displaying a man on the verge of attack in order to protect his secrets. "Majesty, my time as a general has passed, and I choose to live my life peacefully in the luxuries I had earned. The people under my lordship have never met any resistance from the Gray Falcon, and they are my concern, not every noble who dismisses the warnings of these lands and blindly rides through with something to prove."

Aramis touched a hand gently upon Anne's shoulder, and she turned her attention towards him for a heartbeat. It was a signal of his for them to try an alternate approach when dealing with a difficult negotiation.

"General Marcellin, you are not mistaken that Her Majesty and I are both still quite upset over our ordeal, and I will apologize on her behalf as well as mine," Aramis said. "We have always done our best to ensure the safety of all the people of France, and if we were to over-extend our reach in dealing with the Gray Falcon, you will perceive Her Majesty as a dictator, rather than a compassionate sovereign, and that is neither her nor my intention. We appreciate your hospitality and your assistance tonight, and perhaps we can discuss something other than the Gray Falcon."

"Thank you for seeing reason," Marcellin smiled as he reached for the bottle of wine and poured himself a full cup. "You should both sample the wine from our grapes. I think in all my travels I have never tasted a wine so sweet before."

##### ##### ##### ##### #####

Anne took another sip of the sweet and flavorful wine that Marcellin had offered, realizing that his earlier statements were no exaggeration. She had lost track of how long the three of them had sat at the table, talking and drinking the wine he savored so greatly. Suddenly, she released an uncharacteristic giggle, and immediately afterwards, she cleared her throat. She made every effort to sit up straight and regally, only to be betrayed by herself as another quiet chuckle slipped free of her lips.

Marcellin was pouring the contents of the third wine bottle, filling his cup and then offering more to Aramis. The former Musketeer raised the cup with a smile and slurred, "To the General!"

"Yes, yes, to me!" Marcellin shouted sloppily as he raised his cup up high before he took a long swallow.

Anne smiled once more before she was lost in a wave of giggles that started and refused to settle.

Marcellin pointed to her and laughed heartily, "Majesty, I dare say you are even more beautiful when drunk."

The general's words caused Anne to nearly spit her wine as she fell into another fit of laughter.

Aramis took the bottle, offering more to Marcellin. "Now, now, general, you mustn't flirt with the queen…"

"You are so right, Aramis!" Marcellin shouted. He snapped his fingers as he brought his eyes across the room to his servant. "Juliette, darling, come sit on my lap and share my joy as you have so many times before!"

Bringing the cup to his lips, Aramis watched behind the rim as Juliette cringed, and he had an idea. "Juliette! Please, another bottle of wine. This one is empty."

"Oh yes, darling. That is more important! We must have more wine!" Marcellin shouted, as he waved his hand to dismiss the servant.

The general picked up the bottle with his other hand, feeling how light it was. He gave it a shake near his ear, hearing nothing inside. He then peered his eye into the opening as though looking for the liquid, when Anne suddenly burst out laughing.

"What is so amusing, Majesty?" Marcellin asked with a stupefied smile.

Anne snatched the bottle from his hand and held it up to her eye, snorting with laughter. "I am a sailor, seeking buried treasure!"

Marcellin grinned wildly, pointing a disciplining finger at her, "You are a wild woman, Majesty. I wish to see more of it! Juliette, where is that wine?"

Aramis stood with his cup and raised it high towards Anne. "Here is to a queen who is full of surprises."

"Yes, a surprisingly wild queen!" Marcellin echoed.

Aramis set his cup down on the table and grasped the empty bottle with his other hand as he moved towards Marcellin. He slapped him on the back like an old friend, laughing as Anne rose to offer a drunken curtsey that had her nearly falling back into her chair. She and Marcellin burst into a fit of laughter when Aramis suddenly sent the bottle into the back of Marcellin's head. Amazingly, the bottle did not shatter, and for a moment Aramis feared he had not swung it hard enough, but then Marcellin simply fell forward in the chair unconscious, his forehead slamming on the table.

"My God, that was exhausting," Anne grumbled in frustration now that she was able to remove her mask of false drunkenness as she pressed a hand to her forehead as though nursing a headache.

"I must say, that was a really good bottle," Aramis noted as he dropped the bottle on the floor and helped Anne clear the food from the table runner.

He then grabbed the material they had cleared and brought it around Marcellin's waist and chest, securing his wrists to the chair with the length of it before he took a napkin and stuffed it into the unconscious man's mouth.

"Do not worry, Majesty. This debacle will remain our secret," Aramis said with a smile that spoke of an entirely sober First Minister who had also removed his mask of intoxication. "Now to find that deed."

Juliette returned with the requested bottle of wine, and her eyes grew wide.

"If you wish to be free of him, you must listen to me very carefully," Aramis said quickly but softly as he took the bottle from the girl and set it on the table. Touching her shoulder reassuringly, he explained, "The queen and I can see that the count and countess are rightfully returned here, but we need your help. Can you do that?"

Shuddering, Juliette brought her eyes from the restrained Marcellin and then to the queen. "It is true? Are you really Queen Anne?"

"I swear to you, Juliette, that if I cannot have your employ returned to the count and countess, I will bring you to Paris where you will be a servant of mine and never have to be abused by Marcellin again."

"What do you need?" Juliette asked.

"Take us to the library," Aramis answered. "Like you said when we first met, you don't know who is listening, so we must be cautious."


	6. A Good Deed, Indeed

**Chapter 6 – A Good Deed, Indeed**

"Hurry, this way," Juliette whispered, waving Anne and Aramis across the hallway and towards the stairway at the end of the corridor.

Ducking around the corner, the three of them slipped into a shadow where the candle sconces weren't quite reaching. Other than the two guards outside, six other servants who were resting, and four guards that randomly roamed the halls, they had not encountered anyone else. Juliette had locked the doors to the dining room, keeping Marcellin trapped inside in case he happened to awaken and free himself from Aramis' bindings.

Aramis and Anne exchanged a look before Juliette was on the move again. They followed her closely as she ascended the stairs and then they all slipped into the doors of the library. Juliette clicked the lock to keep everyone else out, and then she sparked a flint to light a candle in a sconce near the door. She moved to a few more candles upon the two desks in the room and lit them, offering just enough light to see five shelves filled with books.

A painting of the distant landscape hung above the fireplace, barely revealing its greens and blues in the dim orange glow from the candlelight.

"There should be a locked box behind a loose brick," Anne whispered before she moved towards the fireplace and started testing the bricks above it for what she sought.

Aramis knelt to the left and Juliette knelt on the right, each of them gently assessing the bricks until one of them would find the secret compartment that would reveal the item they sought. After a moment the sound of rubbing bricks echoed softly near Aramis.

Juliette moved to bring one of the candles near Aramis as he worked, and Anne stood beside him. They watched as he shimmied a loose brick until it broke free. Gently, he set it on the floor and slipped his fingers into the rectangular space. He grasped a metal handle and lifted it slightly as a thin, wooden box slid out of the compartment where it had been stowed.

"Is that what will bring the true masters back?" Juliette asked optimistically.

Anne touched the young woman's shoulder with a gentle hand. "That is our hope."

Aramis opened the wooden box and lifted free a parchment, unrolling it carefully. His eyes scanned over it, and he smiled as he curled it back into its cylindrical shape and returned it to the box.

A bang struck the door, startling the three of them, and they all looked dumbfounded at it for a moment. Aramis uttered a curse, handing the small box over to Anne.

"Juliette, is there another way out of here?" he asked.

"Besides the windows, not that I have ever seen," she said, gasping when another thud echoed in the library.

Making his way towards the windows, Aramis pushed aside the curtain and unlatched the glass panes. He peered his head outside and saw that the balcony was an approximate four-foot drop below them. Beyond the balcony was another twelve-foot drop to the ground, which would do little more than injure them.

Gently pushing past the two women, Aramis pulled hard on the curtains that were covering the windows until they tore from their rods.

"We'll climb down?" Juliette asked.

Aramis shifted his gaze from the young girl to the queen as he started tying one end of the curtain around one of the support pillars that was closest to the window. He took the other curtain and tied it to the end of that one.

"This is a trick I used once," Aramis cryptically explained, "It will buy us some time."

Taking the pile of curtains, Aramis tossed it over the ledge and saw that it fell too short of the ground to have done them any good, and he didn't want them stranded on the balcony. The doors rattled, and began splintering, and Aramis blew out the candles as he led the two women into a cornered shadow near the door on the right. He motioned for them to stay low, and when the doors burst open, Marcellin and two guards immediately ran towards the open window.

"Charlatans!" Marcellin screamed in a slur, as he looked out the window to see the escape plotted below him. Fuming, he spun with his guards barely catching him as he lost his balance. As he thundered out of the library, his footsteps stomped down the stairs in his attempt remain upright. His words echoed until they faded as he reached the bottom of the stairs. "I want them both brought to me! She was no queen! Damn you, Gray Falcon! I have seen your face now."

Aramis and the others slipped out the door and quickly hid in a room just across the hall, waiting to be certain Marcellin and his men had left the mansion to look outside and were not lingering within its halls in an attempt to catch them.

"Are you the Gray Falcon?" Juliette asked.

Smiling, Aramis shook his head, "No, but let him think so for now."

"You are very clever, my First Minister," Anne told him softly.

"As are you, Majesty. Now, we have a document to deliver and a young lady to liberate," Aramis said as the three of them exited the room.

"The kitchens have a door that leads to the wine cellar," Juliette offered as they descended the stairs, "From there, we can exit through a door just beyond the mansion."

"Majesty, I believe Juliette is the cleverest of us," Aramis smiled.

"Agreed," Anne smiled in return, meeting the young girl's eyes. "Let us be off then."

##### ##### ##### ##### #####

The mansion was silent now that everyone was outside looking for Anne and Aramis. Juliette guided them through the hallways, just as she said she would, and they finally exited through the wine cellar. Its door was placed within ten yards of the house, and they had to duck and hide in the night outside until they were beyond the border of the mansion. Having gotten free of Marcellin's reach, they moved through the woods until they returned to the checkpoint where Alain's men had left them earlier.

They heard the horses whinnying in the distance, and as they neared the small camp, the Gray Falcon rose from the ground, his cavalier and scarf covering his face.

"Please tell me you were successful," Alain pleaded softly. However, his attention was drawn to the young woman, and after a moment, his voice was confused, "Juliette?"

"Do I know you?" she whispered without recognition. Then, the Gray Falcon removed his cavalier and pushed down the scarf. Juliette's smile grew wide in the dim light. "Cousin Alain!"

"You are related?" Aramis asked, "Why didn't you say something?"

"The guise of a servant was the safest way to stay protected while I spied on Marcellin," Juliette replied. "I was never allowed to leave the mansion, so I had no way to develop any contact with anyone, but I knew eventually Alain or Micheline would find a way to pass information to me. I just never once believed it would come from the queen, herself."

Anne showed Alain the small wooden box, but did not offer it to him. "Now, Count Alain, kidnapping the Queen of France and her First Minister come with certain penalties. I think we should return to your people and your wife so I can recommend a reasonable accommodation for your crimes. I'm certain what I have in mind will be quite acceptable."

"Of course, Majesty." Alain said with a humbled nod. Then, he looked to his men. "Let the women ride the horses while we escort. It's almost time for us to go home…our rightful home."


	7. Vocational Façades

**Chapter 7 –Vocational Façades**

"Aramis, so much time has passed now. Please tell me if it is true. Did you and Mother meet the Gray Falcon of Boitron?"

Aramis set down the document he had been reading and brought his eyes to the young boy before him. He watched as the blonde-haired dauphin took his old Musketeer cavalier off the shelf and set it upon his head. It looked entirely out of place on Louis' extravagant ensemble of hunter green and white.

"Majesty, as I explained to the council, we were delayed when Martin had taken a bad fall off the carriage. Some townspeople in a nearby village were kind enough to care for him for a short while."

Louis, still wearing the cavalier, moved to Aramis' desk. He set his arms before him on the wood and then rested his chin upon them. The sunlight streaked through the window behind Aramis and shone on the child, giving him an angelic glow. "I'm not the council, Aramis. It's been weeks now, and you can tell me the truth. I promise I won't say anything to anyone."

Laughing at how his cavalier kept slipping over his son's face and slightly obscuring it, Aramis lifted the hat and pushed it back enough so that he could see Louis' eyes.

"And, just what if your mother and I did encounter the Gray Falcon?" the first minister asked softly, maintaining his playful grin. "What about him would you want to know?"

Speaking equally quietly, Louis asked, "Did you best him in battle? Was he hard to fight?"

Leaning forward, Aramis looked left and then right as though seeking out conspirators that might be listening. "Yes, I did meet the Gray Falcon…"

Eyes widening, Louis shouted, "I knew it!"

"Not so loud, Majesty," Aramis admonished softly but playfully.

"I'm sorry."

Aramis looked again towards the door to ensure no one was passing by. "I'm sorry to disappoint you, Majesty, but we did not fight. However, I will tell you that your mother was quite a brave woman and she even took on a mission from the Gray Falcon."

"But, Mother is so…" Louis stumbled for a moment, lowering his eyes and after a heartbeat, he brought them back to Aramis, "Mother is not like you. She cannot fight and shoot pistols and…do exciting things. She talks and calls it…dip…diplo…"

"Diplomacy, Highness," Aramis finished with a grin. "Yes, that is where your mother is strongest. But, she is also very clever. The Gray Falcon was unable to get access to a very cruel man's home, but your mother and I could. She was very brave, and she kept the man distracted long enough for me to do my part. The two of us then found the evidence the Gray Falcon requested we bring him. He used that evidence to give a family back their home."

"I can't believe Mother helped the Gray Falcon," Louis whispered in awe.

"The queen is a very surprising woman, Majesty," Aramis replied. "You may not see her or her work as very exciting, but what she does is always with a kind heart and a want for a better France."

"Did you and Mother learn who the Gray Falcon is?"

Aramis caught a shadow nearing his office, and he lowered his voice a notch. "It does not matter who the Gray Falcon is. What's important is that he will be protecting the people of Boitron in a different way now. Your mother convinced him that he has no more reason to steal from noble travelers, and he should use his cunning for those who would bring harm to the citizens of Boitron."

The dauphin stared in wonder at Aramis. "Maybe one day I will meet the Gray Falcon, too. And, if I do, I will tell him that my mother is the bravest woman in all of France."

"Louis, are you disrupting Aramis while he is working again?"

Aramis lifted his eyes as he caught sight of Anne slipping into his office, the skirts of her peach and white-laced dress brushing against the wooden floor. She was once again the embodiment of the Queen of France, with her hair pinned up regally and a silver necklace laying upon her neck. The white diamonds embedded in the silver jewelry sparkled as they caught the sunlight streaking through his office window.

Anne lifted the cavalier from her son's head, raising a single finger at his sudden protest of losing the accessory, and he immediately settled. As she moved to put the hat back on the shelf, Aramis touched a finger to his lips and then winked at Louis.

"I am not being disturbed, Majesty," Aramis replied when Anne turned back around.

"Louis has sneaked out of his scholarly lessons…again," Anne sighed, "If he does not return to his tutors, I will not allow him any target practice for a week."

"Mother!"

"I would not argue with the queen, Majesty. Sharing our adventures is not nearly as important as your lessons. You will be king one day, and you must know how to be clever like Her Majesty. Fighting without a strategy is a useless waste of ammunition and strength."

Nodding silently at his first minister, Louis then glanced at his mother. "Aramis told me you are brave and clever. I want to be smart like you, Mother, but I also want to have adventures like Aramis."

Aramis spoke softly, "Then, return to your lessons, Majesty. Learn all you can so that when you have your adventures, you will also understand how to survive them with your head and not just your weapon."

Louis looked at the queen with big eyes, "I will learn everything I can so I can be smart like you, Mother."

As the dauphin pattered his small feet out of Aramis' office, Anne brought her eyes to her first minister, the expression on her face one of curiosity over her son's sudden agreement.

"I told him that you were brave and helped the Gray Falcon, omitting of course your improvised drunken antics," Aramis said with a lopsided grin as he watched her step closer.

"And?" she asked, as she took his hand within hers and sat on the edge of his desk.

Aramis kissed her fingers, sitting up straighter. "He sees you differently now. You are not just a woman of words, but of action as well. I believe you will see he has a new respect for you and your work."

Anne used her other hand to trace her fingers down the opening of his white tunic and lifted the cross she gave him so long ago. Memories flooded through her as she noticed that his first minister's jacket was once again on the back of the seat with the medallion lying on the far corner of his desk.

"Sharing an adventure with you has shown me that you'll always be a Musketeer and that being First Minister is just a façade you must wear," she told him softly.

"And our adventure has shown me that you long to occasionally remove your regal mask as well," he replied with a mischievous sparkle in his dark irises.

Anne released a soft laugh. "I assure you, Aramis, I am no Gray Falcon."

"Perhaps you are, just in your own way," Aramis answered, bringing her fingers to his lips once more.

Footsteps sounded outside the office, and as Anne slipped her hands from him, she caught his eyes with hers, lowering her voice. "I shall see you tonight, my love."

When the warmth of Anne's fingers left him, Aramis watched as she quietly slipped through the door of his office. He picked up the document he had been perusing earlier and smiled silently. The letter from the Count and Countess of Boitron outlined the recovery efforts they had been taking in the last couple weeks after D'Artagnan had arrived with a small contingent of Musketeers to liberate the mansion from Marcellin. The count mentioned in the letter some of the recent exploits of the Gray Falcon. He and his followers had protected some wealthy travelers from bandits, and they had aided a nearby town against an overbearing landlord. The legend of the Gray Falcon had shifted from a robber of the rich into a champion of all people. Understanding Count Alain in a new way, Aramis could relate to the façade of diplomacy that they both wore because, truly, they were each men of action.


End file.
